


Silent August

by tinyfirefly



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - August Rush Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - The Lake House (2006) Fusion, Eventual Love Letters, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, Modern AU, Music AU, Mutual Pining, Soulmates AU, Time Traveling Mailbox, deafness, hearing loss, soulmates can hear the music the other is listening to, writing letters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23035150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyfirefly/pseuds/tinyfirefly
Summary: Pulling out of the drive, the faint jangle of a pop song flits through her head, heard second hand. A soft smile tugging at her lips, Rey greets the subtle contact.Hello soul mate, glad you could join me.He didn't stay though. As quickly as it had come, the music faded away, imagination supplying the image of a tall, broad man striding abruptly away from the tune - running from the sound. A man she would never see again.//\\//\\Eleven years ago, Rey had met and lost her soulmate. Since then, she'd spent her time trying to forget everything and wondering what would have happened if circumstances had been different. He's not looking for her. She knows this. In a world where soulmates can hear the music the other is listening to, the accident that took her hearing away might as well have killed her. From the dwindling music on his end, he might as well be dead too.Deciding that it's a sign that soulmates aren't always meant to be, after all, they'd had their chance and it hadn't worked out, she resolves to move on. But the universe has a funny way of getting what it wants as old secrets come out, and she begins corresponding with a man who exists in a timeline two years behind her own.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Reylo
Comments: 18
Kudos: 20





	1. I Believe in Music

Silence accompanies her last pass through the house. The rooms are empty, the wood floors swept; it is a husk of the home she had made it into, ready to be filled by the new occupant. All that remains is a small box set next to her bag by the door. 

Eyes making one last sweep of the place, she makes sure everything has truly been packed just as much as she is saying a final goodbye. Her heart aches. It's time to leave. Past time. She'd delayed the decision to move for months, but it was time to go, time to let the only place that had been hers - the only place had felt like home - become part of the past. While unconventional in many ways, the house spoke to her soul. From the way the rich, warm wood gleamed in the afternoon sun, to the bookshelves built into every possible nook in a book lover's embrace, to the floor to ceiling windows that made up the west wall, it all came together around the founding elements of the house that had first captured her attention; the live oak that grew through the middle of the floor, and the waters that lapped just out of reach below the floors. Delicately elevated on stilts, the house rose, graceful, from the lake. And for the past two years, it had been hers.

Collecting her stuff and opening the door, Rey pats her thigh, summoning Beebee to her side. The orange and white dog darts by, stopping on the walkway to look back at her, sides heaving with excited pants. Balancing the box on a hip, she locks the door. 

Unseasonably warm sunshine glints off the waters. For February, the 60-degree weather is a blessing. Inhaling deeply, absorbing as much of the place as she can into her being, Rey walks down the slim pier to the drive, counting the embedded paw prints that march towards the house. They had always mystified and charmed her. Hopefully whoever lives here next would be equally charmed. 

Setting the box in the back seat, letting Beebee take passenger, she leaves the door open, making a brief detour to the mailbox. Posting the letter, _For the New Tenant_ written on the outside, she lifts the flag and returns to the car.

Pulling out of the drive, the faint jangle of a pop song flits through her head, heard second hand. A soft smile tugging at her lips, Rey greets the subtle contact.

_Hello soul mate, glad you could join me._

He didn't stay though. As quickly as it had come, the music faded away, imagination supplying the image of a tall, broad man striding abruptly away from the tune - running from the sound. A man she would never see again.


	2. A Piece of Me that I Can't Hold

**_FEBRUARY 6TH _ **

\---

The house needed work. 

Assessing the structure, hands shoved, contemplating, into his pockets, Ben ticked off each of the areas that failed inspection. A fresh coat of paint wouldn't go amiss. The pier railing was about ten seconds away from falling into the lake. From his tour inside, he could only imagine how many months it would take to complete the to-do list there - all the rooms needed a new coat of paint, the plumbing didn't work as it should, and the carpet was so 90s. The damn tree didn't help either. Not to mention the yard. 

Lips twisting in a wry expression, he entertained the possibility that he might end up with a tan this summer. Something he hadn't had since he was a kid.

This would be... good. He might be calling himself stupid every other five minutes because he had no experience with making repairs and had never renovated a house before, but it was his place. So what if he someday moved out and left this place all messed up for next resident? He'd bought the place, it was his. Something about this house had quieted a place deep inside him and that had been reason enough to own it. 

Leaving thoughts of renovation for another day, he shoved in a pair of earbuds, continuing his current audiobook, and began the tedious task of moving everything from the U-haul to indoors. 

He'd dismissed the movers after they'd assisted with the larger pieces of furniture and good riddance. If it hadn't been for the need to team lift, he wouldn't have bothered with having help at all.

They'd been sensible; at least, they'd heeded the subtle (not-so-subtle) instruction to not play music, but there'd been plenty of other hiccups. The first had involved the bed. They'd given him strange looks when he made them move the bed from the master bedroom to the large second bedroom. He didn't need to explain himself. Besides, he hadn't corrected them on where the couch went. Why ever they chose to set it against that particular wall was beyond him, and he considered it leniency on his part that he'd let it be. Once his dresser, office desk, and dining table had made it inside, that'd been it.

Piling the boxes in the entryway, organizing them along the wall, the stack grew from three, to five, to ten, plus a miscellaneous few more. An exorbitant amount for a solitary bachelor like him, until one considered the size of his personal library. He'd tried for years to downsize. Naturally, new bookshelves would be his first purchase. Right after the hardware supplies. 

Late afternoon light was slanting nearly level through the western windows by the time he finished. Locking up the U-haul and checking the mailbox, the change of address card was expected, but the letter was not. 

How long had that been there?

Frowning, looking it over for wear, the envelope felt new. The paper clean against his fingertips. It held none of the grit or brittleness that should've come with sitting in a mailbox for years. According to the realtor, it'd been more than two years since anyone had lived here. Maybe they'd kept the letter somewhere else? Kept it safe until he moved in, possibly?

Tearing open a side, wide penmanship, freely looping, graced the page.

\---

_Hello New Tenant!_

_Welcome to your new home. I hope you'll like as much as I have._ (A smiley face had been drawn here.)

 _The tree isn't as difficult to take care of as you'd think it would be. The leaves do get everywhere though in the fall, I had to sweep daily when they fell! For your sake, I hope you're not moving in in the fall._ (Another smiley, smaller this time.) 

_If you could please forward any mail you receive for me to the address below, I would appreciate it._

_Rey_

_P.S. The paw prints outside, and the box in the attic, were there when I moved in._

\---

What?

Rereading the P.S., he glanced down the pier. No paw prints. He half-turned to look behind him. No paw prints on the drive either. Following the wrap-around deck all the way back to the front door, boards thunking hollowly, he didn't find any paw prints marring the planks.

This _Rey_ was clearly mistaken.

A quick visit to the attic proved that there wasn't a box up there either. Unfinished walls and floor, sharply steepled by the point of the roof, scarcely tall enough for him to stand upright and definitely not wide enough to accommodate his shoulders, it couldn't hide anything.

Examining the letter once more, he noticed the date was wrong. Although, if the day was right and were to be believed, it was marked for earlier this month, within the prior week if he was counting back correctly. Tossing the letter to the side, he left it up there. Rey had one out of three right, the tree probably did shed leaves everywhere during the fall.

* * *

Night fell over the house, bringing the silence with it. Too early and cold in the season for the crickets and bullfrogs that would sing all summer long, only the ripple of water against the stilts could be heard. The quiet ate at him. He'd always lived alone, but couldn't tolerate being left with his own mind. Didn't want to. 

Strides carrying him around the tree for the fifth time, past the master bedroom door, past the front door, past his bedroom, the drink in his hand nearly gone, he returned to the kitchen. Ghosts of melodies teased at him, whispering up at memories he refused to unlock. Memories of a time when the night had held more. A time when music had sung through him, within him, and had been echoed in return.

Finishing off the drink, glass clinking on the counter, he set his phone on speaker, the polished, professional tones of the narrator filling the room. Chasing the ghost back to where it belonged. Starting in the den, he started ripping up the carpet.

* * *

//\\\//\\\

* * *

**_ FEBRUARY 14TH _ **

\---

The plaza is busy. Sitting by the fountain, two lunches in hand, she people watches to pass the time. Most are employees enjoying their lunch break. Others, shoppers and tourists, are easy to pick out, all flocking in groups that mosey across the plaza. There are even a few harried-looking flower delivery drivers, no doubt with their hands full of Valentine's deliveries. 

How many were listening to their soulmates? 

She'd used to make a point of setting aside a special playlist, one she'd play all day, that way he'd know she was with him. The last year that she'd been able to do it (although she hadn't known it would be her last), she'd taken the day off from the Philharmonic and played anything and everything that she could think of on her cello. He'd joined her in the evening, accompanying seamlessly on guitar.

Today, he'd been silent. Just like last year. Like the past ten years.

If she were honest, the silence hurt. But she preferred to remain practical. It was better that way.

Noticing a familiar figure, Rey holds up the extra burger, Rose immediately pumping a fist in a responding cheer. 

_How's the new job?_ Rose signs, accepting the burger.

Rey shrugs. _It's going._

Rose had been the first, and most adept, of her friends at learning sign language. Despite depending on the language for communication, there had been times in the immediate years after the accident that Rey had been jealous of Rose's mastery. Enthusiasm to help her friend had been Rose's driving motivation. For Rey, it was a tool - albeit a necessary one. 

_Are you and Finn doing anything tonight?_

Eyes alight, a soft grin crosses her face. _Finn is planning to surprise me!_

Elbowing the other girl, Rey's eyebrows lift knowingly. _Proposal?_

Blushing, Rose takes another bite of her burger. _I don't think he's ready..._

They were temporarily maintaining a long distant relationship. Finn was in New York. Rose in Chicago. And they visited as often as they could. After years of being within orbit of each other, oblivious to their soulmate status, the fact that they'd spent the last three years dating was such a typical Finn move. Rey felt it was high time for them to get married already.

_I'll tell him to get on with it then._

Hands full of food, companionable silence fell, each taking freely from the fries that sprawled on the napkin between them. The remarkably warm February had persisted to today's unheard of 70-degree weather. If it kept up, spring could be in the cards. 

_You should reach out to him._

Rey's shoulders tense, firming into a rigid line. _It's better if I don't._

_But he's your soulmate._

Shoving in the rest of her burger, Rey busies herself with the wrapper.

_You're not happy._

_I am happy!_

_Not at home. Not when you think nobody can see you._

Rey doesn't answer. Across the street, a man draws her eye. His head is down, looking at something in his hand, probably his phone. She's too late to glimpse his face, but the black hair (tidily combed into place at the nape of his neck, while not the untamed curls that she remembers, could be his if he took more care with his grooming), and height could belong to her soulmate. It's the truth she lives with, seeing him in every guy that even remotely resembles him. 

There's more than one ghost that haunts her though, but the second was gone long before she'd ever met them. That one jumps out even more unexpectedly at her, startling her with the intensity of her longing for it not to be a trick. For the phantom to be flesh and blood. To be alive.

 _How?_ The gesture is bitter. Returning to the original question, of contacting her soulmate, she avoids Rose's astute assessment of her happiness. _I can't exactly reach out to him._

Face soft with recognition for the pain that Rose knows Rey keeps inside, her gaze is steady. _You don't need music. There are services you could try? You could probably find him on your own. Why won't you just try?_

_I don't need to though!_

Her heart clenches. The meeting had been unexpected. The sense of connection overwhelming. The separation... inevitable. 

_Rose, it doesn't bother me to be alone._

Lunch finished, they start walking towards the concert hall. Both work in the same building, but Rose has a concert to practice for and Rey has a desk full of administrative paperwork waiting for her. A decade ago, she would've been joining Rose. This is as close to that she'll ever get.

_There can be more than one chance you know._

Giving Rose's hand a short squeeze, a signal to drop it, Rey doesn't look at her. No. Not for us. There can't be another chance.

Behind her, bodies shove close, crushing in proximity, touch unwelcome, filling her space. Oxygen seizes in her lungs, unable to escape, heart-pounding, reacting to the panic around her without understanding the source. A hand yanks Rey to the side. Automatically ripping free, attempting to step back against the crowd, Rey is stopped by Rose grabbing her shoulders. Dark eyes wide, whites visible, fixated over her shoulder, the shorter woman turns her around slowly. 

The accident had been close enough to hit her. Mind jumping to another accident, the parallels to similar not to, a chill skitters up her spine. This one could've killed her. A car had jumped the curb, the cause for the sudden rush of people, shoved there by a bus. Slanted across the traffic lanes, everything had come to a standstill. If they hadn't been pushed by everyone else... if Rose hadn't pulled her out of the way...

It didn't matter. Her vision is filled with the prone figure on the ground. 

The man she'd noticed earlier. Laying face down, his hair had become mussed. Blood pools, unstoppable, below him.

That could've been her.

Shrinking back against a wall, Rose's hands fly in unintelligible queries, occasionally gripping her arm or shoulder. Paralysis steals over. Gaze tunneling, all she can see is blood.

* * *

//\//\\\

* * *

**_ FEBRUARY 14TH _ **

\---

Returning from the hardware store, his fifth time within the week that he's lived here, Ben set up his latest batch of supplies. New paint to cover the rust that's spotted the pier railing. Tools to ensure the railing won't fall off. And another bookshelf that he won't set up - not yet at least - to add to the other five he's purchased. He'll wait until the new flooring is in before building the bookshelves. Dark hardwood would look nice.

After staying up the entirety of the first night, thoughts turning senseless in the repetitive action of hauling up carpet, he'd left the other rooms for another day. Dusty wood floors, discolored and splintering in places, had been hidden under the carpet. All it had taken was a splinter to his bare pinky toe for him to resort to wearing shoes throughout the house. Trailing naturally after that was his decision to hire a team to do the floors. Let others flirt with splinters.

Screwing in the last bolt, earbuds firmly in place, as usual, he switched over to the paintbrush. Winter was hardly the best time to be painting outdoors, but the sun was out, and he was only doing a few touch-ups. He could put a new coat on properly when summer came.

Working his way down the railing, starting by the drive and moving towards the house, a gleam of paint caught his eye. A paw print. A trail of paw prints, paint fresh and dark, the same color he'd just used for the railing, led to the door. At the end, sat an orange and white dog. 

A chill raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Staring off, the canine blinking and cocking its head but not looking away, he remembered the letter he'd left in the attic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the interest so far! It means a lot to me.
> 
> So a bit of good news, I have the story plotted up through chapter 10. That's about midway through the story. The plan to have about 30 chapters though. I'll update that once I have my plot outline finished.
> 
> And because I ended up removing this from the summary description, this story is a combination of my favorite story elements from the movies August Rush and The Lake House mixed in with soulmate au. I'm honestly really excited about how well those two stories have come together in the plot outline for this XD
> 
> Next chapter, I also plan on posting the cover. 
> 
> Hopefully you enjoyed the latest chapter! I'd love to hear feedback ^^


	3. Back Stepping All of Your Moves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised here's the cover, it can be viewed on Chapter 1. I've spent far more hours watching Adam Driver movies than I have working on this fic trying to get the right image of him for the cover. My muse also seems to prefer striking while I'm at work (thank goodness I'm now there seven days a week, right... being essential is so lovely...)

**_ _ **

**_FEBRUARY 17th _ **

\---

A chill jolts her awake. 

"Shhh."

Legs thread together. The arm draped across her waist joins the arm under her head, curling over her chest, tugging her into the firm warmth at her back. Black hair tickles her cheek, his face delving into the crook of her neck to place a soft kiss against bare skin. 

"I'm here, go to sleep."

She hears the words, simultaneously feeling them vibrate from his body into hers. Heart pounding against the embrace, breath stuttering around the knot of fear in her throat, his presence envelopes her - security, belonging, not being alone - but she's caged in. His hold comforts her as much as it confines her. Outside his arms though...

This moment is for her. 

Her heart burns, a wound that will never be healed. Why must it be temporary? Like this, she is safe. Like this, they are together again. Beyond his arms, the world is black and white but it could oh so easily turn red. Beyond his arms, a nightmare of people trapping her in awaits. Stripping away all control, she'll be back at the accident again, forced to witness over and over the death of a faceless stranger, the soft memory-dream lost to the world of terror. It pulls at her, prying her bit by bit out of his grasp, closing in, paralyzing, until she can't even turn to look into her soulmate's eyes without seeing the nightmare wake to life in his gaze.

_No. This is mine. You can't take him from me._

All too familiar, all too aware, of how the nightmare will play out if she lets it take her, she cocoons the memory of him around her, teasing out the details, grounding her consciousness. The way his breath is a lulling rhythm upon her neck, chest rising and falling at her back. How his warmth seeps into her bones, alleviating the chill of loneliness. His heart beats solidly, steadying her pulse, her body relaxing to meet his, matching, wakeful but in sync. 

The sooty orange-gray of the New York night sky lightens to the familiar dove gray of Chicago dawn, her mind slipping from false-dream awareness into true-awake awareness. The ghost of a touch shivers across her skin. The new apartment is dimmer than the Lake House, but the blankets and pillows are the same lovingly-worn-out set Rey had bought years ago, all the belongings hers, evidence of the life she had made for herself. Alone.

Hands scrubbing over her face, a low groan rising from somewhere below her stomach, it's the third day in a row that she's dreamt about him. 

It's been years. So many years that Rey only remembers the barest features of his face. Just a voice rumbling promises in her ear.

Each time, he's reassuring her that he's still there. That he's not leaving her. And it hurts, awakening the old wound of how he rejected her. How he left her behind. The whispered promises of how he would never abandon her not even twenty-four hours old when he'd disappeared and never looked back.

A cold nose bumps her arm, Beebee's soulful eyes hopeful, tail wagging a slow question. 

_All right girl._ Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Rey gets up, rubbing the scruffy canine fondly. _I know, I'm up, we'll go for a walk as soon as I'm ready_. Dressing casually, nothing more elaborate than necessary, Beebee (thankfully) possesses a rarely judging character and bounces with excitement as the leash is clipped on.

Locking the door behind her, Rey hugs the sweater tighter around her, warding off the chill. There is an absolute, one hundred percent correlation between the temperature outside and the numb feeling that has crept over her limbs, sinking into her chest, and sapping her energy. There must be atmospheric pressure going on too, to explain the parody of tinnitus filling her ears, the sound a radio static of a station cut off. She refuses to acknowledge that both of her symptoms have been consistent companions for the last three days.

They'll walk a couple blocks, enough to drive the nightmares and memories to the back of her mind, and then they'll return home where she'll prepare for work. Just like she does every day. And nothing will be different.

* * *

...

* * *

**_ 23 Years Ago _ **

\---

_"What is that loud music?"_

_Hands over her ears, Rey's slight body tensed, catching how all activity ceased in the kitchen, her new foster parents exchanging a long look over dinner preparations. She'd made a mistake. She shouldn't have mentioned the music. The angry, tuneless screeching of a wet cat having its tail pulled had been going on for hours (she was learning how to read clocks in school, and the fast hand had made_ thousands _of laps, she'd watched it). The drums pounded an obnoxious tantrum, throbbing a headache to life in her temples._

_Kneeling at eye level, placing a hand on her shoulder, the wife offered a soothing smile. "What music sweetie?"_

_Sucking in her bottom lip, hands fumbling together behind her back, Rey dropped her gaze. "It's mad... and it's hurting my head."_

_Another long look._

_"How long have you been able to hear the music?"_

_"...A few hours?"_

_"Before today, honey." Eyes crinkling in a smile, the wife's warm hands rub up and down Rey's forearms. "How long have you been able to hear the music before today?"_

_"It's always been there."_

* * *

...

* * *

**_ FEBRUARY 17th _ **

\---

**To Rose >>**

_I think I'm coming down with something._

Standing in the break room, Rey waits for the Keurig to finish its job, giving it her standard five-minute window to ensure it's done. It was cold in here, far colder than it had been at her desk, and she'd already spent the morning with her coat draped over her lap for warmth. Still... it was only Thursday. She could survive today and tomorrow.

**From Rose >>**

_Are you still in shock?_

**To Rose >>**

_1\. Not in shock._

_I'm pretty sure it's just a cold or a stomach bug._

**From Rose >>**

_Not seeing a doctor doesn't discredit the symptoms_

_Just go to a Minute Clinic or something_

_Oh shit_

_Did you know 1 in 5 people die from shock?_

_And WebMD doesn't say how long shock can last_

She didn't know whether to laugh or groan. This was pure overreaction. 

Adding creamer, mixing it in with a swift stir, she covered her tea with a lid, cupping the heated styrofoam gratefully.

**To Rose >>**

_Why are you on WebMD?_

_Aren't you supposed to be in rehearsal right now?_

**From Rose >>**

_It's for your health!_

_Not playing right now, it's fine!_

_And aren't you at your desk right now?_

**To Rose >>**

_Getting tea actually._

Now that her tea was in hand though, she was ready to return to her desk. The minute or two it took to walk back passed without an answer. Maybe Rose was finally being the professional musician she was supposed to be - tuning her cello, or reviewing sheet music or something like that - and not pestering her about her health. It will pass. It's nothing she hasn't experienced before. Her hope was too soon though.

**From Rose >>**

_Rey, you should really get it checked out. For me, please?_

**To Rose >>**

_Roooose - I'm cold, I'm tired, and will probably eat soup for lunch. It's a cold, not shock._

**From Rose >>**

_Just 1 bowl of soup? That's not like you_

_And those symptoms are part of shock too_

Those facts didn't stop Rey from shamelessly using her coat as a blanket once more when she was back at her desk, balancing the lidded cup of tea on her lap (she'd double-checked to make sure the lid was secure) where she could enjoy its warmth.

**To Rose >>**

_Those are symptoms for a lot of things, the most likely being a COLD._

**From Rose >>**

_About to practice_

_Talk to Holdo about leaving early_

_You need to go home and rest_

_Rest is good for colds AND SHOCK_

Maybe. 

Putting her phone away, attention on the emails waiting for her to reply and the responsibilities that she'd fallen behind on, Rey was loath to consider Rose's point. She hadn't seen Amilyn Holdo since the beginning of the week. Rumor indicated that Holdo had been out of the office on business, but the Artistic Operations Coordinator & Personnel Manager could have returned by now. That didn't change Rey's opinion about not needing to take a sick day.

Rey hadn't admitted it to Rose, but her cold theory was morphing more and more into the stomach bug theory. While the tea had been soothing, the tightness in her stomach eased with the beverage, the idea of even a small cup of soup made her stomach roil afresh. Every minute bringing it closer to erupting into all-out nausea. And her fixating on it didn't help. 

She was seventy-eight percent certain that the stomach bug had been called into existence by Rose's talk of shock symptoms as a form of self-preservation. (The reminders - as distant as they were - of what had happened earlier this week and how this had all started were especially unhelpful.)

If - and that was a big IF - if she really was under the weather, then rest would not go amiss.

Working from home was an option. 

Fingers drumming on the faux wood desk, shoulders hunching a little tighter to consolidate body heat, she argued between the pros and cons. Pro: She was perfectly healthy and nothing was wrong with her. Pro: If she had come down with a cold/stomach bug, she'd be right as rain in a few days. Con: It was a cold/stomach bug and (even made up as it was) it was making her feel miserable. Pro: She wasn't in shock, regardless of what Rose claimed. Con: Until she went to the doctor, there was nothing she could say that would convince Rose otherwise. Con (a major con): She could admit she wasn't feeling one hundred percent and take sick days for today and tomorrow. Con (continued from the one before it): That would be using paid time off, for an illness she didn't really have and she might need it for another time, an ambiguous future point when her health actually needed it. Pro: She could request to work from home. Pro: None of her projects specifically required that she be in the office. Pro (the most appealing one of the lot): If allowed to work from home, she could do it in bed, under covers, surrounded by pillows, with access to whatever snack foods she had at home (not that she felt like eating any of them at the moment, but the point still stood). Bonus pro: Beebee could give her all the cuddles she needed until her make-believe stomach bug disappeared.

Yeah, no. No more pros and cons, she was completely biased.

But she could, in good conscience and without taking a sick day or adding to her workload, contact Holdo about reassigning some of her projects. Proud as she was of her reputation for being able to manage multiple projects and complete them by their deadline, being out of sorts this week had not done her any favors.

From: Rey Niima < rniima@chicagophilharmonic.org >

Sent: February 17th, 20xx 10:23 AM

To: Amilyn Holdo < aholdo@chicagophilharmonic.org >

Subject: Project Reassignment

_Ms. Holdo,_

_Due to health complications this week, I am unable to complete some of my assigned projects and request that they are reassigned to someone else. Attached, you will find the project files, including the work I've managed to achieve on them so far._

_Sincerely,_

_Rey_

Yeah, she couldn't bring herself to take a sick day, but could totally cash in on the excuse for not getting work done. That made sooo much sense. 

Almost immediately, a standby response shot back. 

From: Amilyn Holdo < aholdo@chicagophilharmonic.org >

Sent: February 17th, 20xx 10:24 AM

To: Rey Niima < rniima@chicagophilharmonic.org >

Subject: Re: Project Reassignment

_Thank you for your message. I am currently out of the office and won't be able to respond immediately. For any urgent matters, contact my assistant, Kaydel Connix at kconnix@chicagophilharmonic.org._

_Kind regards,_

_Amilyn Holdo_

_Chicago Philharmonic_

_Artistic Operations Coordinator & Personnel Manager_

From: Rey Niima < rniima@chicagophilharmonic.org >

Sent: February 17th, 20xx 10:28 AM

To: Kaydel Ko Connix < kconnix@chicagophilharmonic.org >

Subject: Project Reassignment

_Kaydel,_

_I tried reaching out to Ms. Holdo about this but got her out of the office message. I have some projects that I won't be able to complete, due to health complications this week, and need them to be reassigned to someone else. Attached, you will find the project files, including the work I've managed to achieve on them so far._

_Or, if it's not possible to have them completely reassigned, I'm agreeable to a collaboration. Just let me know if that is the case!_

_Thanks,_

_Rey_

From: Kaydel Ko Connix < kconnix@chicagophilharmonic.org >

Sent: February 17th, 20xx 10:52 AM

To: Rey Niima < rniima@chicagophilharmonic.org >

Subject: Re: Project Reassignment

_Rey,_

_I've informed Ms. Holdo of your request, and am working on reassigning the projects. I will let you know if any collaboration is necessary._

_I hope you feel better soon, and let me know if you need anything else._

_Sincerely,_

_Kaydel_

Lunch passes without a cup of soup, the queasiness dictating that it was safer to go without. Rose doesn't stop by on her break either (for which Rey was secretly glad about) allowing time to slip away as she remains buried in her work.

Movement out of the corner of her eye startles her. 

Appearance unusually understated, her boss stands at the edge of her desk. Slacks cut casually, knit-open-front cardigan falling to her knees with a simple gray shirt underneath, purple hair coiffed in a simple bun, this is a level of business casual that Amilyn Holdo has never graced the office with. 

Snagging an extra chair, she joins Rey at her desk.

Openings were always awkward. For the hearing. It was amazing how many had no clue how to start a conversation without the first segment of "Hello!" and "How's the weather?" such small talk usually too mundane to put into writing. Her boss, luckily, held no compunction for such formalities.

Flipping to a blank page in her bullet journal, Amilyn goes first. _Rey, how are you feeling?_

Using her less sophisticated sticky notes, Rey slows her writing down, hoping her usual scrawl would look a little more legible and tidy. Compared to her boss's delicate penmanship, there was little she could do to make it not look embarrassingly sloppy. _I'm fine! I didn't realize you'd be back in the office so soon, otherwise, I would've waited instead of emailing Kaydel._

_I'm only here to grab something as I'll be out until next week. Are you sure you're fine? Kaydel mentioned you cited health reasons in your email._

_Of course! It's nothing really._

Pen flying across the page, scathing in its honesty, Amilyn cut to the quick. _Rey, you've been underperforming. Your work hasn't been up to its usual quality. That's not like you._

Biting her lip, Rey was glad that writing gave her an excuse not to meet Amilyn's eyes. _I'll work harder next week. I'm sorry, I didn't realize how my work was being affected._

Shaking her head, the keen blue eyes - usually full of witticism, strategizing for the future of the Philharmonic - are tired, the blue weary and worn-out. 

On her behalf, Rey understood in sudden clarity. 

_If you're not feeling well you should rest._

_No, it's just a slight cold. I'll be fine._

Searching, probing the facade Rey presented, Amilyn's pen hesitates, dipping gracefully to write her next question carefully. _Is this connected to what happened earlier this week?_

 _I am fine._ The pen trails off with a quiver at the end. _It really, truly, is nothing._

Amilyn purses her lips. Tucking a sleek coil of lavender behind her ear, she crisply delivers the ultimatum. _Tomorrow, take the day off. Take the rest of today off as well. Go someplace where you feel most like yourself. Make an extended weekend of it, and start fresh on Monday. Everything else can wait._

Holding Rey's gaze squarely, she waits for a nod of acknowledgment before gliding away. 

Sagging back, Rey counts to ten, to make sure Holdo is gone, before moving.

Permission now received, she throws away the remainder of her tea (now cold), legs turning chilled the moment they are no longer covered by her coat. Firing off a text to Rose, she heads out the door.

**To Rose >>**

_Holdo sent me home so I don't spread my stomach bug. Still not in shock!_

_Text me when you can._

Once at home, it took her a full three minutes of exchanging puzzled ' _What do I do now?_ ' looks with Beebee to fully process the binge-watching marathon opportunity that had been granted. Changing out of her work clothes in record time, Rey gleefully set up camp in her bedroom.

Climbing into bed, maneuvering carefully, laptop cued with a movie and a bowl of popcorn firm in her grasp - Beebee sprawled on top of the bedspread next to her, taking up most of the space - Rey's phone finally lights up with a text notification.

**From Rose >>**

_Loss of appetite and nausea are also shock symptoms!_

_If you die of shock I will torment your ghost!_

* * *

...

* * *

**_ 23 Years Ago _ **

\---

_No one had explained the concept of soulmates to her before. They hadn't realized she would need an explanation. They hadn't thought that an orphan like her had a soulmate. (Hands fidgety, faces beaming, the foster parents had gushed, ecstatic to fit her better into their ordinary lives, "It wasn't in your file!")_

_But this changed everything..._

_There was a person out there..._

_A person meant for her!_

_Someone she was bound to for life!_

_Wiggling into the pillows, ducking under covers away from the watchful strip of light that pooled below the door, she hummed the tune from earlier. Or tried to. Her soulmate had gone quiet sometime during dinner, the aggravated notes ending in a vague resolution, but she wanted them to know that she was there. That she had heard. It was hard to tell what her soulmate had been listening to (or playing to?), the melody a muddled mess, so she hummed a freeform selection between the drums and other instruments._

_Oh!_

_Quietly, a guitar plucked the melody into place, finding the notes that she had struggled to pick up, the song sounding nicer when it was just the guitar alone. Answering her._

_Listening, absorbing, body floating a million miles above her bed, she realized it was playing the same few notes, then pausing, for a good ten seconds, before playing the same notes again. Waiting for her. Sitting up, she hummed it back quickly. Scurrying to the door, eyes wide for the foster parents, she slipped down the hall into the nursery/playroom._

_There!_

_Miniature stature perfect for her small frame, the toy piano sat where it had been left by the previous child. The foster child before her had loved playing the toy piano, showing an early talent in playing music, and frequently choosing it over the other toys if the parents' stories were to be believed. Rey hadn't touched anything remotely resembling an instrument before, but with the guitar strumming through her head, she played the keys._

_The sound was off. Different from the throaty tone of the guitar, the notes were still the wrong ones. Searching for the right keys, plunking her way up the scale, a thrill shot down Rey's spine as her finger landed on the first right note. Silence from her soulmate seems to indicate he's listening, but now that she's found the first one, she's determined to find the rest._

_It isn't until the next morning when she wakes, curled up on the floor by the toy piano, that she realizes that she spent the night learning how to play the piano. Learning how to speak to her soulmate. The guitar guiding her efforts._

* * *

...

* * *

**_ FEBRUARY 18th _ **

\---

Pulling into the driveway, the numbness eases from around her heart. 

She'd checked the real estate listings beforehand, making sure she wasn't about to step onto someone's new property. Surprisingly, a new tenant hadn't moved in already. In fact, it looked like no one had visited the place; rain marks dappled the windows, paint cracked on the exterior, in need of a new coat, and the weeds that she hadn't had time to pull from the edges of the driveway were still flourishing - brittle and scraggly from the winter, but looking smug in their victory of prolonged life.

Holdo's words had haunted her mind, the numbing chill harder to ignore when she was snug in bed. Someplace where she felt most like herself... She didn't have any place like that, but then the Lake House had surfaced in her memory; the tranquil presence of the tree, her walls of bookshelves full of her closest friends, the feel of the sunlight through the glass roof. It had been her haven, and a part of her heart had pleaded to back.

So here she was. 

And she felt better for it. 

Checking the mailbox, mostly out of grim certainty that the post office wasn't doing its job of forwarding her mail, head tilting at the sight of the uplifted flag (had she left it that way?), she finds a letter. Of course, it was addressed to her, at her new address, but hadn't been forwarded.

It was dated two years ago. 

_Feb. 14th, 20xx_

_Okay Rey,_

_I'll bite. How did you know? There weren't paw prints when I moved in. Now, I have a dog (are you aware of how much these things shed?) and paw prints leading to my front door. There still isn't a box in the attic, so I'm not sure about that one. Also, you got the date wrong._

_I'm curious though, how long ago did you live here?_

_Ben_

What ass- Who did this guy think he is?

Drawn features down turning into a scowl, Rey shoves the flag down.

She's not dealing with this. Not today. There isn't enough patience in the world for some prick - who she's never met - to ruin her attempt at regaining equilibrium. How dare _he_ blame _her_ for the dog, it's not like she's the one who gave it to him!

_02/18/20xx_

_Dear Ben,_

_The year is 20xx, just like it has been all year. And what you're suggesting is impossible._

_Besides, if you're that put off by the dog, take it to a shelter, it's not my fault it adopted you - poor thing certainly could've picked a better human if your writing is any indication of your character._

_I moved out in January after living here for a year and some months._

_Again, forward my mail to the address below._

_Rey_

Flipping the flag back up, Rey plops down on the pier. Knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapping around them tightly, legs crossed at the ankle, she watches the water ripple. Catching drops of sunlight, colors shifting and melding through the shallows, scent still fresh from the winter ice as the water gradually warmed. It was peaceful. Serene in a way that her new apartment could never match and one disconcerting letter wasn't about to ruin that for her.

She didn't know what was wrong with her. She couldn't admit to herself that there even was _something wrong with her_. But here, it didn't matter. Here, it was okay. 

* * *

...

* * *

**_ 21 Years Ago _ **

\---

_Bars of light seep across the bed, edges zagged and chaotic where the blankets had rumpled around her legs. Curled in the fetal position, having a staring contest with the blinking red light of the smoke detector - the battery had been low for over a week now - each time it blinked she counted it as a win. Fifty-six... fifty- Sixty-seven... sixty- Seventy-eight... No, she skipped something... hadn't she been in the fifties? Starting back at fifty (for the third time), she couldn't seem to make the transition from fifty to sixty without losing track. And the music looping through her head wasn't helping. While only a recording, it sounded terrible compared to the real thing. (Not that the group sounded much better as a whole...)_

_It had improved, a little, she could hear where her soulmate had incorporated pieces that they had worked on into the music. From the sounds of it, there was a new drummer, one who actually knew what he was doing, easily playing a rhythm to compliment her soulmate's melody._

_He still sounded best on his own though._

_When it was just him playing for her, she could hear the heart he put into the composition, the thought and effort it took to make each note poignant in its own right._

_And the fastest way to improve it would be kicking the other two out. The ones who sounded like they were also playing guitars, but not as skilled as her soulmate. They weren't sensitive to the volume of their playing, screaming till your ears bled being their default. And the singer needed a cough drop and new vocal cords. Whoever he was, he sounded like a dying parrot (she only knew it wasn't her soulmate because the voice never accompanied the guitar - in fact, she'd never heard her soulmate sing, let alone hum)._

_Since being moved into Plutt's care, a week and a half ago, she hadn't been able to play with her soulmate, the toy piano remaining with the foster parents for their new biological baby. That was fine. When alone, she hummed, letting him know she was still there, but she missed their musical conversations._

_Tentatively, the guitar played a low, moving melody, not a piece she'd heard from him before. Yet, she'd heard it, somewhere, in some forgotten place, before. It resonated, calling out her loneliness, asking if she felt it too. Asking, "Are you there?"_

_Years later, she would learn that it had been the beginning of the first movement of Moonlight Sonata. Years later, she would associate that bit as his way of asking if she was there._

_Tonight, she answered, humming the same notes back, just like how she used to play back on the toy piano._

_The house shook as a door slammed, a warning rumble of thunder before the storm hit._ _Menacing, ponderous steps thudded to a stop, a meaty fist pounding on her door, causing the lock to rattle in the jamb -_

_That was the last night she tried reaching out to her soulmate while inside Plutt's house._

* * *

//\\\//\\\

* * *

**_ 2 Years Ago - FEBRUARY 18th _ **

\---

Committee members began trickling in within the customary fifteen-to-twenty minute early window. Demeanor professional, learning names, shaking hands, smile polite but affable enough, Ben played the networking game. The contract was already signed, but moving forward, his architectural designs hinged upon their approval. They could easily make his life hell if they wanted to. 

Today's meeting was the start of that; the presentation of initial concepts and reevaluating specs that would eventually lead to the final design.

"Ready to make your mark?" Phasma glanced pointedly at her watch, falling into step with him as he made his way to the front of the room.

"Ready to add another to yours?"

Phasma smirked. "Five minutes, Solo."

Five minutes to finish preparing. Everything was already set up though. He'd uploaded his PowerPoint the moment he arrived. All presentation materials had been emailed the day before, with extra print outs sitting on the conference table for those who needed them. 

The attendees, sensing the time, claimed their seats. Automatically segregating into their groups, he knew enough of who belonged where to pinpoint which group was which. Representatives of the Philharmonic clustered at the furthest end, buzzing and tittering, Dr. Ackbar's wheezing tones occasionally breaking through to hush them. Perched at the forefront, leaning forward, eager to begin, was Phasma's crew, talking in undertones amidst themselves. These are the people he'll be working with, people who will become teammates, collaborating with him to bring his vision to life. Scrunched between the two sections in the middle of the table, is the nebulous collection of city officials, sponsors, and possibly a consultant or two. Odds are high that he'll never see anyone from this group again. At least, while he's working on this project. 

Phasma starts right on the minute, launching into the introduction with perfect presence.

Sitting off to the side, awkwardly folded into the chair assigned to him, facing the rest of the room, Ben's fingers rifled through his note cards. The opening is brief. Phasma, succinct with her words, wasted no time mincing over pointless details. At one point, he knew exactly which minutiae details Phasma was glossing over, could recite them even if he felt in the mood, but as the door opened for a latecomer, he struggled to remember that he wasn't the child he'd been thirty years ago. The lonely child who hadn't belonged in meetings. All words lost meaning as a worn leather coat skirted into the back of the room, not even sitting at the table, but choosing to slouch in a chair against the back wall. 

_Why was he here?_

Missing the conclusion of Phasma's intro, but not his cue to begin presenting, Ben took over talking.

The old bastard seemed bent on ignoring him.

If he had known his old man would be here, would he have lobbied for the project? Yes. Yes because he had known, had felt it, after reading the project brief that it was his. His skills sang while designing the structure. He'd spent hours studying the lighting, watching how it changed throughout the day, making sketches as his visions came to life under his hand. 

But...

He couldn't understand why his dad had allowed him to be the architect for this project.

Keeping to his presentation, methodical, precise, collected, reciting on autopilot, he focused on the other members of the committee. Interest was the prominent reaction across the room, some probably revealed outright approval. Others, possibly, held back, reserved and thoughtful. He couldn't tell. His ability to read the room was shot through, short-circuited to apply all mental faculties to do his job.

Was Han proud? Happy that his son had finally followed in his footsteps and become an architect? Had he voted in his son's favor? Or had he voted for someone else? For someone better? A real architect who knew what they were doing and hadn't just fallen back on the only other career he could think of.

Did they regret not hiring that architect?

Somehow, his tongue managed to talk its way to the end of the presentation (fuck if he knew what was said) and even handled a Q&A session while his brain was on vacation.

His body continued acting without consultation from his brain. It didn't register with him though until Phasma stopped him in the lobby. He'd walked out of the post-meeting networking. He'd walked out without his stuff. 

Mutely, she handed over his belongings, eyes narrowed.

Avoiding her glare, he checked his briefcase. The papers are a mess, simply tossed in on each other, but they're all there. Straightening, he glanced around for an escape, for something else to look at besides Phasma. "I thought you told me he had no interest in being involved?"

"I did." Phasma shrugged. "Maybe he changed his mind."

"He can't. I refuse to work with him."

Phasma rolled her eyes. "What are you going to do if he does? Run away? I don't remember you being this petty when you interned under my old boss in San Francisco."

Ben snorted. "Yeah, well, he wasn't my dad now, was he?" A figure coming slowly down the stairs catches his eye.

"Your dad is literally the owner of this company. " Squaring her shoulders back, suddenly reminding him that they were of the same height, her eyes level with his. "Look, be an adult. Stop _this_ ," her hands gestured vaguely to encompass his body, "and talk to him." But her target wasn't listening.

The old man was inching his way towards them, swagger hesitant, subdued, lined face older than he remembered. 

"I gotta go," he muttered, marching away before Han could get too close.

Behind him, Phasma huffed, glaring at the back of the outgoing Solo and then whirling to pin that same glare on the incoming Solo - who naturally froze and spread his hands sheepishly at her look - chin lifting with emphasis. Men.

Safely ensconced in his car, Ben called the one person who always masterminded Han's attempts at reestablishing a relationship. When the call connected, he didn't give her time to speak. "Mother. You didn't tell me _he_ would be part of the committee."

"Did it go well at least?" Leia wasn't the least bit fazed by his accusation. 

"Oh, it was _great_! He just sat there doodling in his notebook, not even listening to me."

Her soft sigh barely made it over the sound of a semi passing in the opposite lane. "He's trying, Ben. You should hear the music he's listening to."

"I don't want to." It came out too petulant. Too sensitive. She should've known better. "What goes on between the two of you doesn't concern me." God, he really didn't want to imagine his father playing their codeword song for ' _I drove our son away again_.' It's probably something cringey from the 80s. 

"Ben, I didn't know he would be there. He's the one who suggested I mention this project to you. He thought you'd do well with it."

"I don't need his encouragement, Mother."

Silence answered him. Finally, a sigh sounding a little too fed up, a little too resigned, came through the speaker. "Then why did you take this job in the first place?

"It just so happens my favorite person to work on projects with is employed there. Phasma deserves a raise for putting up with his shit."

"I'll pass that along."

Stopping at a red light, the last one before his onramp for the freeway, the car that pulled up next to him boomed a throbbing bass. Grimacing, Ben's fingers flexed against the steering wheel. "Also tell him to stay off the project."

"I can't do that."

"Why _not_?" And why isn't the light green yet?

"For one, I don't have a say on how he manages his own company," came the wry answer. 

"That's never stopped you before." Finally! His car soared up the onramp, reaching speeds that were better left unmentioned.

"You can always quit the project. No one will force you to stay on."

That wasn't what he wanted though.

And he's not willing to continue this conversation.

Changing lanes, he settled into the drive, mumbling something about needing to go to get off the phone with Leia. Thoughts fuming over the events of the afternoon, he knows he could've handled it better. Why couldn't Han just stay out of his life? It'd been easy to ignore his father's attempts at communication when he lived on the West Coast. It'd been a mistake to move back. By the time he pulls into the driveway, his day has been completely overtaken by his black mood, impotent anger surging venomously through his veins. Rey's letter happens to be the icing on the cake.

Tearing a page from his sketchpad portfolio, he used the mailbox as a writing surface, grunting in frustration as its metal post tilted under his weight.

_Feb. 18th, 20xx_

_Well, Rey,_

_If you did live here that recently, then you left this place in horrible condition. Are you sure you didn't used to live in the cottage up the road? Because this one hasn't been lived in for several years, not until I moved in. Actually, from the state of this place when I moved in, I'm more inclined to believe you were a hobo sheltering here. Please do not confirm whether or not that's true because I don't want to know. I will, however, inform you that thanks to you, my mailbox doesn't work. I had to open one at the post office. Was that a luxury you got to enjoy too?_

_Giving another dog to the local kill shelter is the only good thing you've suggested so far, maybe next time you'll be honest and write the date properly._

_Ben_

He almost shoved the letter in, when he recalled she'd given him her address. Plus, she'd stated twice now to forward all mail to her address. Hand delivering to her door would certainly achieve that. There were worse reasons for driving back into Chicago, setting a chit in her place was not one of them.

Programing the address into the GPS, he followed it faithfully... until... this can't be right...

Aaaaaaaand...

...the GPS ended at a wannabe crime scene. His skin crawled with the sensation of being murdered in ten different ways. The flickering streetlight on the corner was not a tasteful addition to the atheistic. 

Squinting at the latest letter from Rey, verifying that he did indeed enter the right address, he climbed out of the car.

The surrounding apartments look like they're undergoing gentrification. It can certainly use it. Whatever the plot of land behind the fence is being planned for, it looks like the heart of the city's efforts here, but at the same time, it's the biggest eyesore.

Prowling around the chainlink fence, hulking his shoulders to intimidate any nearby serial killers, he finally finds the apartment complex. Or the image of it, in any case. 

The fucking place hasn't been built yet. 

He's been writing to a wacko woman, who sends him to a seedy in-the-transition-process-of-being-gentrified neighborhood and he might have to accept the suddenly convincing notion that in his hand is a time-traveling letter. Well, a letter that traveled through a time-warping mailbox. Or would it be considered a temporal wormhole? Were limited, closed feed dimensional loops a thing?

And he'd made the drive back into the city for nothing. 

Flopping back into his car, a hand scrubbing vigorously through his hair, mixed impulses and frustrations flood through him. The only option left is to drive home. But that's too easy. Too simple. He wants to lash out, to vent his aggravation, to break something. But there's only a chainlink fence and a poster of an apartment complex to be. He's the only one out here. 

Maybe he's the murderer the scene was waiting for. All that's missing is the victim.

The morbid humor eased some of his tension. 

Fixing on the one other thing he can do before driving home, he revisited his letter to Rey. Tailing it on at the end, he added:

_P.S. At 11:08 tonight, I tried delivering this to your address. There's nothing there. So thanks for the wild goose chase._

* * *

...

* * *

**_ Two Years Ago - FEBRUARY 19th _ **

\---

The next morning, he realized how dumb he was. How uncalled for his words in the letter were. It would've been smarter of him to have gone straight to the gym, work his issues with Han out of his system on his own with a punching bag, rather than release it against a stranger. (Admittedly though, her own letters to him had been equally rude, and entirely unprovoked on his end. He'd been civil until now.) Because when he finally goes to check the mail before lunch, there's a reply waiting.

What the fuck? Didn't this woman have anything better to do than write time-traveling letters?

_Ass,_

_All of that sounds like a you problem, not a me problem._

_And ha, no, I know the difference between a cottage and a castle, and the one up the road is definitely a castle._

_Fine, don't believe me. Stan Lee dies in 2019, his last cameo is in Endgame._

_Rey_

What the hell was he supposed to do with this response?

All sense of owning up to his mistakes immediately evacuates. 

Residual anger prompted him to do something. Say something! Get the final word in! There's some bitter catharsis in the words he chooses, not thinking, just writing, pouring back the same fervor of distaste that her letter carries.

_Good, the feeling's mutual! For a scavenger like you, I'm sure everything looks like a castle. And if I'm the problem, then why do you keep coming back?_

He's left feeling surprisingly hollow. His anger has nothing to do with her, yet he allowed himself to unleash it on her. But maybe it'll finally drive her away. 

If he wanted to, he could still correct this. His hand is still on the mailbox door, pushing it shut, but he could change that, open it, and take his words back. He could pocket her letter until he thinks of an appropriate response, some neutral, bland thing that disarms the vitriol, maybe starts a normal exchange with her, but... He doesn't want to. 

Dropping his hand, he walked away.

 _Childish_ , his mother's voice supplied from memory.

He's... not going to respond again. That'll be the last time.

Whatever her problem is, he's not going to partake in it. She can go for the rest of her life without hearing from him again, and its better that way. He always preferred solitude.

* * *

...

* * *

**_ Two Years Ago - FEBRUARY 20th _ **

\---

He's doing yard work when he hears the mailbox flag squeak. He'd been meaning to fix it. Put a little oil on it, or something, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. 

So far, he's done well in forgetting about Rey, shoving the questions of time differences, realities, and why he always had to go and behave like the worst version of himself out of his mind. For an entire day, it had been easy. No need to check the mailbox when his mail isn't delivered here. Avoiding thoughts of things he should've said or not said? Throw himself into physical labor, removing the dead branches from the tree had been a great distraction. 

None of it matters when he knows she just put a letter in.

Head whipping around to look over his shoulder, dropping the dead branches he'd gathered, prepared to confront her, only... there's no one there. But the flag is no longer standing.

There's a logical reason behind this. 

But what's that Sherlock quote? Once you've eliminated the possible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?

Trudging over, steps measured, examining the mailbox as he closed in on it, he knew he was facing the improbable. Through sight alone, he can't see any logical explanation for why the flag would drop. Reaching out a hand to test it (maybe the flag had become loose), his hand is halfway there when the flag stands up on its own.

Snatching the door, impulse short-circuiting reason, he peered inside.

The note is small, folded in on itself until its the size of his thumbnail. He almost dismissed it as trash, but the tiny _Ben_ on the top catches his eye. If he thought his name had been written in small writing, the letters inside are even smaller.

_Ben,_

_Can we start over? Please?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that this story is taking place in a different year than 2020, or is in a different dimension of 2020? Yeah, no, I'm not touching current events.
> 
> Anyway, I've made this story my April 2020 Camp Nanowrimo story, so expect my writing quality to go down while my inner beta reader takes a hike. 
> 
> Food for thought: What love language do you think Rey and Ben would have? ...I may or may not have been pondering this question a little too much while I delve into the chapters ahead...
> 
> That's it for now. I'd love to hear from you guys, it'd brighten up my day immensely as I deal with the customers from hell! Thanks for reading and I hope you guys enjoyed it ^^
> 
> Trivia
> 
> Moonlight Sonata is a nod to Moondance from August Rush. It's the official theme for his side of the soulmate bond; specifically, the cover of Moonlight Sonata by E.S. Posthumous.
> 
> Technical Notes
> 
> The year is deliberately left ambiguous. I'm comfortable using months and days as time stamps, but I tend to box myself in when I use years. If it helps, roughly base it off the actors' current ages, just a year or two ahead. In story, the characters are 28/29 - 38/39 respectively in present time (subtract 2 years from him if you want his alternate age).


	4. Stuck Outside an Open Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by Fighter's Block. Thank God for a way to defeat writer's block...

**_ Two Years Ago - FEBRUARY 20th _ **

\---

_Ben,_

_Can we start over? Please? Act like we never started writing? Because you suck. I've only written to you for a couple of days and you're so toxic! It's despicable, and mean, and how are you even human? Meeting you was a mistake!_

_I can't keep writing to you like this._

_Goodbye,_

_Rey_

Ben heaved a sigh. Well, that's that. He got his wish and drove her away. 

Dropping the note back in the mailbox, he left it where it was. Let her have the final word. Everything she'd accused him of was true anyway. 

It should've been a relief.

Why did it feel like a mistake?

* * *

//\\\//\\\

* * *

**_ 17 YEARS AGO _ **

\---

_Piano music filled the square, regardless of the hour, invigorating and carefree. Streaming from the open door of the music shop on the corner, advertising aloud what wares it offered, hardly anyone went in, but many stopped where they stood or slowed their steps as they passed, to listen._ _Instruments and music books - shiny fresh, waiting to be picked up for the first time - gleamed from the window, hiding the performer._

_Claiming her bench, shade from the oak tree settling over her,_ _Rey opened her homework. It was her new spot. A safe haven. An excuse not to return to Plutt's place. Not until the sun started setting and it became too dangerous to stay out, at least._

_Solving her way through figures, pencil tapping against her lips in thought, the guitar purred, first notes soft, growing stronger, leading the other instruments into a surging war cry. Concentrating on the problem, Rey tuned out her soulmate._

_How many more times was he going to play this one? It felt like the fifty-millionth time today._

_She didn't mind it, usually. But this one made her focus flighty, narrowing in where the music became tense, easing away when the music relaxed. If that song hadn't been playing during class, she would've finished all her classwork. As it was, she now had extra homework._

_He didn't seem happy with it._ _Obsessing over it. Tweaking small parts here and there. Stopping abruptly, starting over at some unseen signal. Honestly, she couldn't tell the difference between one version to the next. It all sounded the same - she was grudgingly holding the term 'good' back - the guitar impeccable as always._

_And that was it._

_It wasn't the instruments, the issue was the vocalist. Never hitting the right pitch, throwing the entire song off, Rey was amazed that this guy was still there. All the band members had been replaced at this point, the first notable change happening shortly after her last attempt to have a conversation with her soulmate - the night Plutt had stormed in and shouted at her. If she paid enough attention, she could tell when someone had been replaced, but she mainly noticed when the music sounded better. And it was better._

_Especially, compared to what it had been four years ago._

_But that vocalist was messing things up._

_No, no, no. She'd missed a step. Erasing the wrong answer, Rey penned in the right answer._

_"Why do you come here?"_

_Papers flying, limbs spazzing in different directions, Rey was left gripping a single book, gaping at the diminutive woman standing before her._

_Blinking through glasses three sizes too large for her face, the woman stooped, helping gather papers._

_Accepting them, scrambling to collect the rest before this stranger could, tucking them possessively back in her bag, Rey stammered to find her manners, facing this tiny woman and knowing that she expected something. "Thank you."_

_She smiled. "You never answered my question. Why do you keep coming here?"_

_"For the music. It-" It'd stopped. Frowning, unaware of when it had ceased, she glanced towards the music shop. It'd never not been playing. What had happened?_

_"Ah." Taking Rey's hand in hers, the woman offered a warm smile. "You'll appreciate it better from inside. Come."_

* * *

...

* * *

**_ MARCH 11th _ **

\---

Normalcy had become a well-crafted charade. 

Choosing a random direction, letting Beebee set a cursory pace for their walk, Rey followed behind, lost in thought. The March breeze toyed with her hair, whipping Beebee's fur into tufty spikes. Never taking the same street twice, she'd explored more of the city in the last few weeks than she had in the entire four-year duration of living here.

She'd been over-performing at work, turning projects in ahead of schedule, being one of the first to arrive in the morning, leaving after the others, taking on extra work when offered. She was driving herself ragged, but it felt good, the burn of anxiety to complete her workload on time provided a wonderful distraction from the hollowness inside. Interacting with friends and acquaintances became a chore she worked around when she could, tactfully tailored excuses getting her out of most encounters. When she couldn't, she politely obliged, waiting until the allotted window of time had passed before making her escape. 

The new routine is exhausting. But necessary. The only good part came at the end of the day, when she could wander adrift through the city, finding hidden gems.

A miniature park with a single dogwood tree, a bed of cheerful impatiens at its feet. Children scuffling in a soccer match, the ball a white bullet under their feet. Sparks of art enlivened the concrete corridors, graffitied walls, chalk covered sidewalks, and skyscraper-tall murals transforming the space into something else. Her eyes always sought the musicians though. 

Peddling the corners or playing on their front stoops, fingers dancing artfully - not masterfully, with precision, militaristic commitment, and experience - but pirouetting, a spinning, rejoicing revelry of celebration, body tuned to their instrument with a loving embrace. 

She gave smiles and a few coins to every street player she passed. For the youngsters especially, she left whatever bills she had at hand, remembering what it was like to be in their shoes. They didn't know she couldn't hear them, her gesture was appreciated all the same. Far from the streets of Chicago, amid the filth of New York, she'd been one of them once, a child, then a teen, busking on the streets, earning what she could. Earning what Plutt wouldn't give her. Surviving. Living through music.

At the back of her mind, a different kind of note hummed, disconsolate, stagnant, below any audible wavelength, reverberating in her bones. Urging. Beckoning. Reassuring. Promising. The Lake House called. Easily within her grasp, she just had to give in to it.

Over the last few weeks, she'd ignored it. Ignored how she longed to return to the Lake House. Ignored the way her coworkers took an extra moment to ask if she was okay. The way Kaydel only allowed her to take on easy projects. The way Rose smiled too brightly. The way Holdo never said anything, but always kept an eye on her. The way she saw all of this and became irked by it. Awaking frustration that they were acting like she was fragile. Treating her as if something was wrong. When she couldn't allow something to be wrong.

Angling towards home, the wind biting keen, a vibration from her pocket drew her out of her musings.

**From Rose >>**

_Where are you? Finn and I are here_

**To Rose >>**

_I'm walking Beebee. I'm almost home._

Taking the most direct road home, mind furiously trying to conjure up a memory of being told that Finn was visiting, she spotted the two figures waiting on the sidewalk in front of her apartment complex. Finn's Valentine's Day surprise for Rose had been the news that he would be visiting for two weeks; was that already today?

Rose's body language said it all: she'd forgotten, and Rose was _very_ concerned, and this was _not_ normal Rey behavior.

_I'm so so sorry!_ Rey managed to sign before Finn crushed her in a hug. 

Clumsily signing against her back - Rose helpfully filling in as interpreter - Rey didn't need to see Finn's hands to know what he was saying, it was spoken through the volume of his hug. _I missed you!_

_I missed you more!_ Keeping her hands where Rose could see them, Rey stepped out the embrace, taking in her oldest friend. _When I moved out of Rose's apartment, you were supposed to move in, you big oaf._

While Finn was capable of sign language, lack of use from their years apart had rendered him slow, relying on Rose to provide a verbal translation if Rey signed too fast or to fill in a word if Finn forgot. 

He grimaced. _I know, I know, if it hadn't been for work, I would've. Do you have to bring it up every time? It's been over a year!_

_I'll stop once you propose!_

Finn flushed, gaze suddenly evasive, sucking in his bottom lip in a clear signal of trepidation. _Reeeey..._

_I'm not the one being kept waiting._

His eyes darted to Rose. _It's not the right moment yet... these things take time!_

Their relationship was based upon waiting for nothing but the right time. Rey had been the one to introduce them, Finn being her best friend, and Rose being her college roommate. A couple weeks after meeting Finn, Rose had known they were soulmates. Finn hadn't realized until much later, though the two had always been close friends.

Apprehension slowing her hands, gestures lacking her usual enthusiasm, Rose suggested, _Finn, maybe we've waited long enough?_

Sign language wasn't needed right now. This was a private moment. A conflict between them that hardly needed an audience. Rey didn't need to know what was being exchanged. But it was a moment that couldn't be put into words for the hearing either. 

_I want to get this right. Rose, I know I've made you wait, but in this one thing, I want to get it right._

Rose had waited five years for Finn to acknowledge their soulmate status. Two years after that, he'd finally advanced their relationship to dating. Offering a small smile, Rose accepted the request to wait some more, clasping his hand in hers with an understanding grasp.

Not to let anything slip by, Rose turned to Rey. Y _ou still haven't explained why you kept us waiting outside your door._

_Like I said, walking Beebee._ _I've been walking her twice a day to get her back in shape. Look at that tubby puppy!_

Ecstatic that the attention had shifted to her, Beebee rolled on her back with a wide doggy smile, the round expanse of her stomach ready for belly rubs. Dutifully obliging, the trio showered affection on her.

_Are you still up for going out?_ Rose checked.

_Of course! Just let me get changed and then we can go._

* * *

Exiting the throb of nightlife, abandoning the crowds and noise, lungs stretching to inhale smoky night air, the solid brick exterior of the bar supported Rey's body as she sagged against it. Rose and Finn hopefully wouldn't notice her disappearance. She'd give them a text, let them know she'd gone home... the rest of their evening would be better without her. 

Anger had been the all-consuming emotion on her last visit to the Lake House. Hastily writing a letter, calling it quits, she blamed Ben for causing it, but he hadn't been the source. Just as Rose and Finn weren't the source of her disquiet now.

Burrowing further into her coat, wishing she'd worn something warmer (not that it mattered, she never feels warm anymore), dismal, alienated, disconnected, and aloof from the world, longing pulsed low in her gut, aching, yearning to have what others had. To be with her soulmate, like Rose and Finn. To be happy in the company of others, like the other patrons in the bar. To have a good time, like she used to. Everyone belonged in a way that she didn't, wanted by their soulmates, living the traditional map to happily-ever-after, while she stood there, smiling, acting like it was okay. Playing make-believe at having a happy life.

Out of the corner of her eye, a familiar figure joined her. Glancing at Rose, hands lifting to say... something, anything to keep her friend from worrying... something that could explain away her behavior... but nothing came, her fingers remained still. 

Finn's paying. We thought you might have a better time if we went back and watched a movie? 

It's... I'm sorry, you don't have to. I didn't want to ruin your guys' night...

It'll be just like college again, remember? We always used to end the night on the couch with a movie.

Rey smiled fondly. Yeah, and Finn always fell asleep.

Conspiring, Rose checked to make sure Finn wasn't coming before sharing her plan. If we put a musical on, he'd fall asleep twice as fast. Allow us to keep working on that list.

Eyebrows raising, Rey couldn't believe she'd kept it. Our list of proposal ideas? How many pages does that thing have now?

Don't know, want to add some more once Finn's asleep?

Definitely!

* * *

...

* * *

**_ MARCH 12th _ **

\---

None of them _got_ it. Got that she was fine, but that something was different. Last night had proved that. Seeing Finn and Rose had proved that. Seeing how she hadn't been able to - couldn't bring herself to - connect with the others had finally broken her resolution.

She needed to go to the Lake House. 

Peace of mind, normalcy of body, isolation from her sucky, everyday life is what she needed. Is what she craved. There was more to it than that though.

The one person that kept coming to mind, the one person that kept scratching her at (because she hadn't realized she considered him a friend), was Asshole Friend Ben. She could say whatever she wanted to him and he would write back some sufficiently cruel response, and whatever that cruel response entailed would help her regain perspective. 

Which is how she found herself standing in front of the mailbox on a Saturday. Back at the Lake House, a letter clutched in her hand, Beebee looking expectantly at her. 

He might not answer. 

He had no reason to answer. 

He had every right _not_ to answer... 

But what if he does...

_Hi Ben, it's me..._ (She had drawn what she thought looked like a sheepish smiley face here.)

_So you know how I said I was never going to write to you again...? I lied. I have something to say, and you are going to hear it and fully judge me for it when I'm done._

_THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!_

_From Rey - who is perfectly okay._

* * *

//\\\//\\\

* * *

**_ Two Years Ago - MARCH 12th _ **

\---

He's hearing things. For a moment, he could've sworn he'd heard that damn mailbox flag squeak, but there's no way. It's impossible that Rey decided to write again. 

For three weeks, his life has been blissfully mundane. He doesn't meet with the other architects on company grounds when he can help it. On the few times when he can't help it, he doesn't linger afterward. He meets with his mother for lunch every Thursday (because if he didn't, she'd drag him there by the ear). The Lake House is progressing nicely, any task he doesn't want to handle himself, he outsources - namely, he had one experience with the nightmare living in the plumbing and vetoed all further interest in working on the plumbing himself. He'd managed to tame the impulse to walk to the mailbox down to a once a day trip and now it's been precisely zero seconds since he last thought of Rey and how he should've handled it better. 

If he still had friends, Poe would've said that he should've tried keeping her in contact if only to get the winning lottery numbers. But he didn't and imagining he'd heard the flag squeak is proof of how and why he doesn't have friends.

From around the front of the house, the dog barks. He'd bet whatever money was in his wallet that it was barking at the mailbox.

Swiping his hands on his jeans, getting paint across the thighs, he placed the paintbrush back in the can. The side of the house gleamed less and less wetly as he followed the deck to the front, the wind curling the scent of paint away from him, carrying it out over the lake, and... yep, he can see the flag standing up from here.

A flag that he knows he left down because it had been down every single time, on all the other days, for the last three weeks.

* * *

//\\\//\\\

* * *

**_ MARCH 12th _ **

\---

**Hello again. Back so soon? And yes, there is clearly something wrong with you, do you need to ask? - Ben**

He replied. Oh God, he replied! 

Launching off the hood of her car (where she'd sat, nibbling her nails, until the flag moved), Rey opens the mailbox and... sinks to the ground, sitting cross-legged. She needs to write something back. Closing the mailbox, fingers crossed, knowing that he's still there (he has to be!), confident that he's watching the mailbox too now, she counts the seconds, breath catching a little more with every one that passes.

_No one else will get it though! I have to talk to someone, so deal with it!_

_Rey_

**I am. I wrote back, didn't I? So tell me, what's wrong? Why the sudden need to talk to me and not your friends? - Ben**

_Okay, 1. Why are you babysitting your mailbox? Like, not now, but before, after I sent the first letter today, you answered a lot faster than I expected. And 2. I consider you to be my asshole friend Ben, so there._

_And maybe there's - kind of - something wrong with me. I don't know what it is, or why it's happening, but there's something off with me. I know there is, and everyone keeps asking me if I'm okay, and I don't know what to tell them, but I'm me and I'm fine... just different._

_Rey_

That was some of it... A bit of deflection was good. Turn the questions back on him.

**1\. I'm not, I heard the flag squeak. That thing could wake the dead.**

**2\. How sweet of you to say so. I consider you to be my wacky mailbox pen pal.**

**And 3. Not that I particularly care, but that's the vaguest explanation I've ever heard. What exactly is wrong with you? - Ben**

Fine. She'd stick to the innocuous details. Ben had yet to be his usual anal self - she's still shocked at how responsive he is being - but maybe if she shared the ridiculous symptoms he'd finally give her what she was expecting.

_My ears won't stop ringing. My chest aches, nearly all the time, and it gets worse when I'm around others. I'm probably wearing half of my wardrobe right now, but I can't stop feeling numb and cold_ (except right now, sitting at the foot of the mailbox, but that was beside the point and she didn't write that into the letter). _There's also lack of sleep, little interest in food, and having low energy, but I've gone through phases like that before._

_Mostly, I just feel off, but I'll get over it._

_Rey_

**I'm pretty sure I already know what's wrong with you.**

_Oh yeah? Care to enlighten me then?_

_Rey_

**Eventually. How long have you been feeling this way? - Ben**

Prick. Of course, he'd keep dragging out the interrogation.

_Over a month or so...?_

_Rey_

**By chance did your soulmate die? - Ben**

A chill skittered across the tops of her shoulders, leaping to strike a lightning bolt down her spine with a violent shudder.

_Excuse you, I never said we were talking about my soulmate._

_Rey_

**Just hear me out. Were you in contact with your soulmate at all? Have you heard any music from them recently? Why did you say you feel off, and what exactly are you feeling to cause that? - Ben**

_Fine, I'll play along. No, I never had any contact with my soulmate. No, I haven't heard anything of late, but it's not unusual for him to go months without listening to music. And... the world just feels... different. Bigger, emptier I guess. Most mornings now, all the time actually, I feel disconnected from my body. Like, everything shows that I'm perfectly healthy, but I don't feel like it._

_Rey_

Deep down, deep enough to reach the place where her numb and cold originated from, something eased, sighing in relief to be in the open.

**Look, don't take it personally, but it sounds like your soulmate died. Tinnitus. Feeling numb. Lack of appetite. Feeling alone. Feeling like you don't belong. Trouble connecting with others. All classic symptoms of losing your soulmate.** **\- Ben**

_Hmm, I didn't expect you to be this nice about it. Did I mention I was almost in an accident, about a month back? I'm probably in shock still._

_Rey_

**Congrats on surviving? I don't know, what do you want me to say to that? It doesn't change my opinion. I think you're in denial. - Ben**

But she couldn't - it wasn't supposed to... _she_ wasn't supposed to be alone. There had to be another answer.

_Isn't there a version where a person experiences symptoms of losing their soulmate without actually losing their soulmate?_

_Rey_

**Pseudo Bond Loss, if you think you've lost your soulmate. Or Sympathy Bond Loss, if a close acquaintance is experiencing it and you're not in contact with your soulmate. - Ben**

_I'm pretty sure Pseudo Bond Loss sounds accurate for me._

_Rey_

**Rey, you've already said you weren't in contact with him. You can't experience a Pseudo Bond Loss without some explanation for why you'd believe that's the case. Everything you've described literally fits the textbook definition of suddenly and inexplicably suffering symptoms of loss. - Ben**

He was wrong... she just wouldn't let him know.

_And it just so happens my asshole friend is an expert on this how...?_

_Rey_

**I met my soulmate once. She died shortly after, and I wasn't there. I heard it though. - Ben**

_How long ago?_

_Rey_

**Ten years. It gets easier. - Ben**

Did it really? How could he believe that? If her person, who'd been fated to be with her since birth, was gone, then she'd be alone. She'd have no one. Her soulmate bond would've been for nothing. No matter what she'd been through, how neglected and physically rejected she'd been, the bond had always been there. Always. Ben couldn't mean what he said if his bond had meant half as much to him as her bond meant to her. 

She wouldn't address it though. He could keep his opinion on soul bonds to himself.

Watching Beebee wade into the lake (ugh, a car ride with a wet dog, and she didn't have any towels in the car either), the sight presented another topic.

_Hey Ben?_

_Before I decide to commit to reestablishing our correspondence and make it permanent, I have an important question... Did you really take that dog - the one who made the paw prints on the pier - to a kill shelter?_

_Rey_

**Of course not. Rey, you should see the puppy eyes on this mutt. I was nearly vaporized for eating in front of it. - Ben**

_You probably deserved it!_

_Rey_

The laughter came easily, bubbling happy and free from out of her chest. Oh yes, if his dog was anything like Beebee, then those puppy eyes would certainly be killer.

It felt like she'd known Ben forever. Forgetting that their first interactions had been insults and abuse, her perspective had adjusted, altering the beginning correspondence to resemble some misguided understanding of the other's flaws and how to prey upon them. She'd forgotten her original purpose in seeking him out, that she'd wanted the cruelty he could deliver, that she'd wanted him to remain the two-dimensional bad guy she'd pinned him as. 

_Hey Ben,_

_Thanks for this. It means a lot to me._

_If it's not too much to ask, can we still be friends? Can we not go back to being mean to each other? Because if this was a one-time thing for you - you know, the whole acting nice deal - then I don't think I can handle that. This place is special to me, mostly because it's the only place where I feel normal again. I don't think I mentioned that earlier, did I? When I was telling you about my symptoms? Well, when I'm here, at the Lake House, I'm normal again. And I can't not feel that way when I know it's here._

_But I can't keep coming here if we're going to go back to how we were._

_So, please, can we keep going as we are? As friends? I'll even start over with the introductions if you want._

_Rey_

Several minutes passed before he replied. Enough time that she wondered if she'd crossed an unknown line, if his demeanor had all been a sham, and he was about to revert back into his true asshole self. Her worry was misplaced though.

**Hi, I'm Ben.**

**I'm an architect. Currently, I'm in the process of renovating this Lake House, and in the weeks that I've been here, I've so far managed to buy eight bookcases, and haven't built any of them. But what about you? Who are you? What do you do?**

**Sincerely,**

**Ben**

**P.S. You sure you're willing to give it another shot? I promise not to vent my bad moods on you if that's worth anything?**

_Hi Ben,_

_I'm Rey. I work for the Chicago Philharmonic, I forget what my role is called, but basically, I do administrative work. You know, boring paperwork and whatnot. Recently, I developed a need to take my dog for long walks around the lake that I used to live at. Occasionally while I'm there, I'll also write letters to the snarky guy who moved in after me two years before._

_Rey_

_P.S. It wasn't an apology, but it'll do I suppose. Bygones be bygones if it turns out you're decent under the attitude?_

_P.P.S You're a dork. Why do you need eight more bookcases?! Practically all of the walls already have built-in bookshelves, do you seriously own that many books?_

**Rey,**

**I believe you're mistaken. I would've been thrilled if this place had built-in bookshelves. Are you telling me that I redo all of the walls to have built-in bookshelves? I sure hope I kept my receipt for those bookcases...**

* * *

Leaving the Lake House, numbness returned. By the time she reached home, her body had become another's. Slipping through her veins, from fingertips and toes to wrists and ankles, to elbows and knees, to shoulders and hips, feeling stole away until all that remained was the warmth around her heart, bright with happiness from talking to Ben.

But the numb no longer represented a bad thing. 

She could escape from it. Tolerating it during the day, going about her daily life, she could visit the Lake House at the end of the day, have a reprieve before facing it again the next day. 

Today had disappeared between letters from Ben. Time hadn't meant anything until she noticed how late it was getting from the last glimmers of sunlight slipping off the lake. Beebe had been conked out on the grass, worn out from playing, fur mercifully dry, albeit it had dried in a stinky mess. Reluctant to leave, but knowing a fight to get Beebee in the bathtub awaited her at home, Rey had bid Ben a good night and left.

Tucking into bed, Beebee clean and sweet-smelling beside her, Rey hesitated to put her phone, debating, deciding whether or not to send Rose a last-minute text. Knowing that she would be worried is what finally prompted her to send it.

**To Rose >>**

_Sorry again about last night. You're right, I haven't been myself lately, I think I need to get out more. I hope I didn't ruin your visit with Finn?_

**From Rose >>**

_OH MY GOD REY_

_I haven't even told my parents about this yet_

_But Finn PROPOSED we're officially ENGAGED now!!!_

**To Rose >>**

_REALLY?!?! Are you sure we don't need to keep our fifty-page proposal plan?_

**From Rose >>**

_Rey, it was better than what we imagined! So he..._

Snuggling deeper into her pillows, happiness bittersweet against the resurgence of loneliness, she eagerly read every new text as it came in. Deja vu lined the moment, reminiscent of five years ago when Finn had discovered his soulmate status with Rose.

It had happened by complete accident. Having amusia, Finn didn't believe in soulmates because he'd been born without the ability to hear music, leaving Rose to determine that it was her job as his soulmate to love him anyway and grow their relationship through mutual attraction and compatibility. On the ordinary day that the three of them had been hanging out, each doing their own thing, Finn's Bluetooth headphones happened to die, allowing him to clearly hear Rose singing along to what he'd just been listening to. It was the first time in his tone-deaf life that music had left him stunned.

Rose had spent the rest of that night texting Rey, over the moon with excitement.

And Rey was happy for them. Truly. But from the back of her mind, the darkness of the apartment around her giving leeway for the recollection to come forth, Ben's words stated her soulmate was dead. A death knell for the happiness she dreamed of having like Rose and Finn.

She refused to believe it. If Rose's hope could be proven fulfilled after knowing Finn for over ten years, Rey could hold out hope for her soulmate's continued existence. And if she were granted another chance encounter with him, it would prove her hope worthwhile. She could be happy then, even if it was only for a brief time.

* * *

//\\\//\\\

* * *

**_ Two Years Ago - MARCH 22nd _ **

\---

A routine settled into place. Neither spoke about it. Neither of them had planned it. It had just happened. Every evening, after their responsibilities to the real world had finished, they met at the mailbox. Divided by their timelines, connected by a rust-scuffed mailbox, they found solace in each other's company.

It woke Ben up to the reality of how isolated he had become. Anyone that he might've considered friends, he hadn't kept in contact with. Sure, he could reach out, but how would that go? _Hi, just checking to make sure we're still friends, bye!_ Living in the same city as his parents hardly garnered more than the weekly mandatory visit, despite his mom's best efforts. Most of his time outside the house was spent with coworkers, but that never went beyond the office.

Communicating with Rey broke his social wall. An inciting new element that offered companionship at a distance, without any strings attached.

It also presented a new problem...

He wasn't getting any work done on the house. Sure, he'd fiddle with things here and there when he couldn't sleep late at night, but the house wasn't progressing, and he was losing time. As much as he loved writing with Rey, she was a very real reminder that he lived with an irrefutable deadline. Unalterable - unless he wanted to challenge the space-time continuum, which he didn't. Thus, after concession to the higher powers that be, he hired a team to finish the house for him.

Only, now he couldn't sit next to his mailbox with the flag waving back and forth, giving and receiving letters, without having an audience. He needed an alibi.

Assessing the craft store shelves, comparing reviews and performances between different brands of ink and pens, picking up a book to review the basics with too, he wondered if his parents had kept his old calligraphy set. Memory indicated that it had been of a higher caliber, but he didn't see that brand here. Maybe Leia could bring it the next time they had lunch together. Grabbing the easel last, he made his purchase. 

Loading the tools of his alibi into the back of his car, a thought occurred to him. He'd need to remember to ask Rey what her favorite parts of the house were so he could get them right. 

* * *

//\\\//\\\

* * *

**It's a new piece, what do you think?**

_Ben, it's beautiful! I didn't know you did calligraphy?_

**It's an old hobby. I needed an excuse to sit by the mailbox.**

_You could do a lot with this, you know! Have you considered taking commissions, or selling your work?_

**Don't you dare suggest Etsy. I'll unfriend you if you do.**

_Why? You don't fit the stay-at-home-mom-making-an-income-on-the-side-with-your-hobby lifestyle?_

**I think you answered yourself in your previous letter.**

_Luckily, I wasn't going to suggest Etsy (although you totally could!). My friends, Finn and Rose are engaged, and I thought that maybe a piece of your calligraphy would be a nice gift?_

**For you, sure. But I'm not taking commissions from anyone else.**

_If you insist!_

* * *

//\\\//\\\

* * *

**_ APRIL 8th _ **

\---

Glancing at the time, expecting Rose to get out of rehearsal at any moment, Rey patted her bag, confirming that her gift was still safe. 

Ben had done a superb job, producing it in short order (a much shorter timeframe than Rey had anticipated), names intertwined together with the delicate suggestion of a heart behind them. He seemed to find it unsatisfactory (something about being out of practice, and hardly comparing to his usual quality) but to Rey, it looked perfect.

After work traffic passed her in whirling swarms, tension easing, faces relaxing, all eager to return home. An influx of people with instrument cases, some small enough to be indiscernible, others bulky with presence, alerted her to the Philharmonic's release from practice. 

Rose smiled in greeting, setting the cello case down, shoulders slumping dramatically as she let her body relax. _You should take up the cello again and take my place. Give me a break._

_Everyone knows my playing sounds great - from ten years ago._ Rolling her eyes in good-natured humor, she tried not to squirm as the mood turned from light-hearted to serious.

Scrutinizing, gaze moving slowly to take in every inch of her, Rose's expression didn't reveal the results of her inspection. _Rey, are you okay. Really, really okay?_

_I'm fine._

_Then what's up with you? You're not around like you used to be, and you're keeping your distance. Is it because of me and Finn?_

Maybe, inadvertently, a part of her had been trying to avoid them, a little nugget of jealousy piping up from its pit of banishment to spread discontent. In reality, she'd been letting the real world slip away in favor of her haven at the Lake House.

_No... no, I met someone. Kind of._

A switch flicked on, excitement blooming in the smile that crossed Rose's face. _Really?! Are you dating? Please tell me everything!_

_It's nothing, honestly!_

Giving her an 'uh-huh' look, Rose refused to let her out of answering.

_Fine. It's a long-distance thing, we've been writing letters to each other, but we're just friends._

An even more exasperated look. _Right, friends always write love letters to each other. Sounds legit._

Nose wrinkling, Rey shook her head. _We're just friends! Really! There are no love letters, just talking about our day._

_If I bet that one day it'll turn out to be more than "just talking" you're going to owe me big time!_

_Uh-huh, keep wishing. Anyway, I asked my friend to make this, as an engagement gift._

Accepting the present, unsubtly probing the wrapping paper, guessing at what it was, she slowly teased a small opening on the corner. _Do I need to wait until I see Finn again before opening it?_

_Only if you want to._

_No way!_ Digging into the corner in earnest, tearing the paper to ribbons, Rose stared at the framed calligraphy, eyes becoming suspiciously wet, mouth parting in a small 'oh'. _It's beautiful... Finn will love it!_ Carefully dabbing under her eyes, she admitted, _I still can't believe we're finally engaged._

Giving a side hug, Rey smiled gently. _You guys deserve it._

Tracing the curve of the letters, tapping the glass as the thought came into place, Rose held it out, inviting Rey to notice whatever she had found. _I've seen this style before. You commissioned it from a friend you said?_

_Kind of. He doesn't really do commissions, but he agreed to do this one. It's a hobby of his from when he was younger. He's only recently started doing it again._ Two years ago in the past recently, but Rose didn't need to know that. Besides, the possibility of Ben changing his mind and putting his artistic abilities out there seemed only vaguely plausible. Who knows? A lot could happen in two years. _I doubt it's by the same person as whatever it reminds you of._

_Maybe._ Eyes alighting mischievously, Rose asked, _Do you think he'd be able to do the rest of my stationery? I'll even give him an invite so you guys can "just talk" in person._

Playfully shoving her friend away, the thought of Ben receiving an invite (and possibly attending) brought a smile to her face.

* * *

//\\\//\\\

* * *

_Other than calligraphy, what other hobbies do you have?_

**I read. Well, listen to audiobooks more like. What are your hobbies? I don't think you've mentioned any?**

_I read too. Actual books; I've never tried an audiobook. I also take Beebee on a lot of walks, but I don't know if that's considered a hobby..._

**It could be. Want to take a walk with me?**

_How?_

**Tell me a day when the weather's nice, and I'll give you a map of where to go.**

* * *

//\\\//\\\

* * *

**_ 17 Years Ago _ **

\---

_"Who do you listen for? You, or your soulmate?" A tinkle of downward dancing notes traipsed to life, tiny hands finding their place with a life's worth of mastery._

_"For... well, for my soulmate. So he'll know I'm there."_

_"What about for yourself?"_

_Rey blinked, looking slowly from Maz's hands to her eyes. "I don't understand."_

_Maz shot a knowing look in her direction. "Do you want to listen to music for yourself? Or what is it that you want?"_

_"It's complicated." That felt like the right answer. How else could she give a name to the wishes and desires that whispered through her?_

_"Does it have to be?"_

_Maz didn't seem to expect an answer right away. Moving about the room, Rey let her gaze wander, mind weighing the question._

_Instruments filled the room, arranged with the same welcoming invite that one might find in a hand-me-down bookstore. Honeyed afternoon light softened the brassy sides of french horns and trombones, gleamed on the flat faces of the drums, caught the fine hairs on bows and flickered across metal strings, illuminating the tentative balance between inanimate and alive. All it would take is a touch. She could tap the snare drum batter head and it would speak. A brush against the strings and they would sing._

_Stopping in front of the guitars, taking in the variety of shapes and colors, Rey continued to study them as Maz joined her._

_"Well?"_

_Yes, the instruments seem to whisper, the silent chorus resounding firm in her heart. "I want to be able to speak with music."_

_Maz nodded slowly. "What would you like to play?"_

_Not the guitar. That belongs to her soulmate. But she'll play something not that far off... Her eyes find the cello. "Something with strings."_

* * *

//\\\//\\\

* * *

_I gotta know, how do you do it?_

**Do what?**

_Live without your soulmate?_

**Like any other day. Are you finally accepting the truth?**

_I mean, you knew your soulmate and she died, and, I don't know, but it seems like you're the type of guy who would get hung up over that. Did you ever move on? What about relationships?_

**Being in the 2% who doesn't live happily ever after with my soulmate, I still managed to get married and have eight kids. You?**

_Married to a doctor of archeology. He's always away on excavation digs, and the money sucks, but he brings home the best souvenirs. Let's me live like a crazy cat woman, and doesn't complain about all the hairballs!_

**You do realize you're torturing that poor man, right? Because there's no way anyone can stay sane with a houseful of cats.**

_You must be a dog person then._

**Just because I have a dog, doesn't make me a dog person.**

_I have a dog too! Remember? Beebee is the cutest pup on the planet! But I like dogs and cats equally, you?_

**I've always been a cat person if you must know. But I have limits - like any _sensible_ person.**

* * *

//\\\//\\\

* * *

**_ APRIL 14th _ **

\---

The relayed call left a bitter taste in her mouth. Why now? Why ever? Ben would know what to say, but she couldn't ask him.

**To Rose >>**

_Mind keeping Beebee for me? Something came up._

**To Finn >>**

_Hey, can I stay with you briefly? I need to return to the City for a bit._

Lugging Beebee's food, dog bed, and toys to the car, leash already snapped on, Rey triple-checked to make sure she'd packed everything. Ticking it off her mental to-do list, up next was packing her own bag.

**From Finn >>**

_Of course! Always happy to have my Peanut visit!_

**From Rose >>**

_Beebee and I will have a girl's night ;)_

_Is everything okay?_

**From Finn >>**

_What's up? Why are you coming back?_

**From Rose >>**

_How long will you be gone?_

Not long... hopefully.

There wasn't enough time to answer time though. Hell, if she had time, her first impulse was to go to the Lake House to alert Ben of the situation. She didn't even have enough time to write a letter and instruct Rose on how to deliver it (not that she would've, the idea of someone else corresponding with Ben through the mailbox weirded her out). But more time certainly would've been useful.

Shoving five pairs of shirts, three pairs of pants, a chaotic handful of socks and underwear that looked like it would be enough (most likely deceptively so), and a hoodie into the first bag she found, she spared a quick glance around the apartment to make sure it was in order. It would have to do. She'd ask Rose to stop by later. 

* * *

//\\\//\\\

* * *

_I did meet my soulmate once._

**Yeah?**

_Yeah. Just for a night. He wasn't interested in anything beyond that._

**...**

_I'm not really married._

**Me neither.**

_I haven't been in a relationship since. Haven't really been able to connect to anyone._

**I know, I haven't been able to either.**

_I never knew what I did wrong..._

**You did nothing wrong. You're not responsible for the actions of others.**

* * *

//\\\//\\\

* * *

**_ Two Years Ago - APRIL 21st _ **

\---

**From Leia >>**

_Ben, what are you eating for lunch?_

**To Leia >>**

_Why?_

**From Leia >>**

_I'm looking for a hole in the wall place for lunch tomorrow, something classy, with a menu that can kill. Do you know of any?_

**To Leia >>**

_Use Yelp_

Collecting his sandwich and drink, Ben wove through the other customers to a patio table outside. The noise was more tolerable, without four walls to bounce the sound, the natural rhythm of Chicago mixing well with the ambiance of the small sandwich bistro he had found. If he were being generous, he'd tell his mother about this place. 

But something told him he didn't want to get involved with whatever schemes she was trying to drag him into.

Turning to a new page in his notebook, he made a note to ask Rey if this place still existed in the future. He hoped it did. 

**From Leia >>**

_Benjamin. I need suggestions now. Do you know what kind of impression it sets if I continually invite people to the same restaurants?_

A line popped into his head. _Sounds like a you problem, not a me problem._ Even on paper, it was the sassiest thing he'd ever heard and fit his current situation a little too well. He almost sent it. Almost. Common sense won out, fortunately. He valued his life and his mother would murder him for replying with that. 

**To Leia >>**

_Mom, I don't know. Go ask your friends. Or maybe stop hosting lunch outings, you can do that you know. It's not my problem_

**From Leia >>**

_Fine. Just tell me where you're eating?_

Great. She'd be joining him. Sending a Google maps pin of his current location, he set his phone to 'do not disturb.' Anything else she wanted could wait until she got here. 

Flipping through the numerous pages of topics he'd written of things to share with Rey - sights he'd seen, thoughts he'd had, things she'd find funny - niggling doubt crept forth from the back of his mind. She had not written lately. A week had passed since he'd last communicated with her, and it itched at him. What was keeping her? Why hadn't she said anything? Was she okay? What if... What if this was it. What if she'd decided not to talk to him anymore?

Their evening conversations, such as they were through letters, had become the focal point of his day. It brought color to his life. The sound of _her_ \- of the world she saw, the humor she found, the hope that always shone so clear through her (although he'd argued again and again for her to stop being in denial about her soulmate, really it was more of an inside joke now, morbid as that was) - filled the silence within him. 

And he couldn't reach her.

Neither did Leia show. Ten minutes after his last text from his mother, Han slid into the seat across from him.

"Hey, kid." The older man fidgeted, expression tentative, hopeful yet wary.

Slamming his cup on the table, Ben shoved his chair back. "No."

Holding up his hands placatingly, Han half stood to match him. "Look, I won't stay long. Just hear me out." He fumbled with a long, narrow item at his side, slowly sinking back into his seat at the same time Ben did. "Please."

It didn't matter. Leia had orchestrated this. He hadn't consented to meet with his father. Grabbing his earbuds, Ben turned the volume up, eager to drown Han's voice out, but a calloused hand yanked the earbuds back, earning a snarl. 

It gave him enough time to speak though. Enough of a window to force Ben to listen.

"Here," Han talked down towards the table, shoulders rigid, holding out the tube. 

Grasping it, but not taking it, the heft of blueprints within recognizable, Ben scowled at him. "What's this?" A dark coil of anger stirred in his gut. This better not be Han suggesting how he can improve the project.

"It's the original plans." Han shifted in place, still offering the blueprints, one cheek hollowing as he chewed on the inside of it, face contorting. "For, you know, what you've been working on... Leia mentioned..."

"Mom shouldn't have mentioned anything."

"I thought it might help!"

"I don't need your help!"

Han pushed the tube closer, almost bumping Ben's chest. Swatting it away, the cylindrical body thunked onto the table, spilling the drink. Both cursing, Ben grabbed everything that was in danger of getting wet - the tube, his phone, his notebook - while Han stormed off to grab napkins.

Mopping up the drink, the color rising on his face, Han muttered, "Still don't know how to keep a lid on it."

"And you still don't know when you're not wanted," Ben shot back, lifting his plate and the salt and pepper shakers one by one out of Han's way. 

Tossing the wad of napkins on the table, the wet smack detonating between them, Han jabbed a finger at the tube. "It's for the house! Your house!" Finger wavering, jaw squaring, he breathed heavily. "They're my original plans. I thought they might be useful."

"And what if I don't want them?"

Emotion, old and cutting deep, flickered in Han's eyes. "At least one of us is trying." Turning away, he left, hands finding his pockets. "Good seeing you, Ben."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this chapter being all over the place... It feels like a filler chapter to me, but there are important plot points happening! They're just kind of small... and carefully tucked in... and this chapter grew too big, and I had to much to include, and couldn't split it, so yeah... I did manage to cut out a thousand words and put them in the next chapter, but this one still grew beyond my expectations.
> 
> I also changed up the formatting for the letters. Let me know if it's difficult to read!
> 
> As always, thanks for the continued interest in this story! It means the world to me to know that people are enjoying it! Thanks for reading, hopefully this chapter was satisfying, and I'll see you in the next chapter ^^

**Author's Note:**

> Short intro, chapters will get longer as it progresses. Anyway, it has been a few years since I've posted any fanfiction, not to mention this is my first time posting to AO3 and sharing a Reylo piece, so please excuse any mistakes or mischaracterizations. 
> 
> Feel free to leave feedback, I'd love to hear what you think! ^^


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